What The Contents Of Your Fridge Say About You

It’s certainly slightly unfair to judge someone based solely on the content of their fridge or freezer so soon after the holiday season. But under more normal circumstances, what you have hidden behind the doors of your Electrolux says a lot, not only about what you eat, but a little something about your character. Yes, you are what you eat, but you’re also what you keep on hand, what you make sure you never run out of.

I am certainly not immune to examination. If you were to open the door to my fridge, you would soon realize that I have rarely met an ingredient I didn’t like or want to buy, and that I loathe wasting food to an obsessive degree. My fridge is packed with trays of vegetables, sealed packs of leftovers destined to be resurrected as meals for another day and enough condiments to complement any type of cuisine from any corner of the globe.

However, you would search in vain for any booze in my fridge, not because I abstain from alcohol, but because I deem it important enough to have its own dedicated cooling unit.

That probably tells you all you need to know about me, but here are five other character types I have discovered from the contents of their icebox.

The sad bachelor

The sad bachelor never received even a remedial education in the basics of cooking and views even the simplest of tasks, like boiling an egg, with the same trepidation as a fat lad might a cross-country run. His fridge is filled with partially filled take-out containers of ethnic food in varying degrees of decay, ready meals that require nothing more than a few moments of nuking in the microwave and perhaps a few Jell-O-based desserts in containers decorated with superheroes. These will match the superheroes on his comforter cover, and, yes, you are correct, he has never and is unlikely to ever have sex as long as that comforter cover remains part of the decor.

The meathead

This character uses terms like “my body is a temple” and “food is fuel” without any sense of irony at all. He considers his fridge merely a delivery system for the prerequisite balance of carbs, fat and protein to fuel him through his tough daily workout. It will be filled with cartons of synthesized nutritional products like “Muscle Milk,” many of which carry images of men whose bodies look like bags of basketballs posing while pulling fierce faces. The only real food his fridge will contain is lean chicken breast and egg whites. He should be clubbed to death with a Shake Weight.

The hipster

The hipster’s fridge is all about the packaging. He is not that interested in cooking but wants anyone who opens his fridge to appreciate just how knowingly retro his purchase decisions are. There will almost inevitably be some artisan pickles of some kind and perhaps something ironic like a tin of Spam hidden in there somewhere for extra effect. There won’t be much real food in the his fridge because, as we know, hipsters like to hunt in packs and usually dine out at local hotspots where they can congregate and talk loudly about their bow ties and mutton chop whiskers.

The traveler

Nothing domestic is ever, ever good enough to be found inside the traveler’s fridge, oh, lord, no. His fridge is filled with foodstuffs and exotic spices from countries that you probably didn’t know were countries. The notion of eating anything but imported French butter is enough to bring him out in hives. Every item in the traveler’s fridge comes with a story about how it was “smuggled” into the country secreted in his luggage or thrust upon him by a cheery peasant woman who insisted he come into her cheery cottage for a meal as he hiked his way through the wilderness of Wherethehellarewestan. The upside is that the traveler can often cook very well, so if you visit him you are likely to have a decent meal. The downside is it will be accompanied by a travel slideshow.

The hoarder

This is the category in which you will find a picture of yours truly. I buy food with little or no thought that my fridge and freezer may already be full to way past their capacity and am determined that not one sliver of ginger or one bottle of ketchup will be dispensed with until I have managed to squeeze every last bit of use from it. I can often be found rummaging in my fridge saying “I am sure we had a kiwi in here somewhere.” And while my hoarding means I can usually turn out a meal for 20 surprise visitors at short notice, it is just as likely that that said meal will involve combinations of flavors only dreamed of by Edvard Munch.